For some it is hockey, tennis, baseball, for my Colorado family, it is football and the Denver Broncos. For me it is cycling. Like any good fan, my daily rituals go by the wayside as life falls into a slight kind of chaos to accommodate the time, energy and desire to take in as much as possible of these two events, the Tour of California and the Tour de France. Today I dropped everything I was doing and raced to San Francisco as I was given a last minute opportunity to view from the VIP tent the start of Stage 3, Tour of California. It was years ago that I started setting my alarm clock to four am in order to wake up in time to watch some stages of the Tour de France live. A precursor to my now normal habit of getting up around five o’clock each morning.
I am so grateful to have these three men in my life – My son Luke, who when I told I may do the 110 mile, Stage 2 Tour of California, Breakaway from Cancer Ride, did not even think twice and said, “sounds great Mom, I know you can do it”.
I drove the course several weeks later and knew that I could not. That it was beyond my skill level and capabilities. Yet to think my cycling pro son thought that I could just made me feel at least for a moment, like a million bucks.
My son Joe, is pure sweetness and tells me how proud he is that I ride to work. Joe patiently listens to all my crazy weekly bike stories and wrote the best and most hysterical song called "26 inch rims" about mom's adventures while riding the bike trail.
And then there is Ron who knows my soul better than anyone and knows that riding for me is a necessity that equales the much needed calmness and tranquility that I believe others may find in yoga, meditation, Prozac, or three good glasses of Cabernet.
It was not long ago that I came home after an extremely stressful, grueling morning to find this note on the counter – “Filled your tires. You're good to go. Be careful out there. R”
Shaking in my shoes every time I looked at my bike during the two months after my cycling accident, I was still not sure I could handle riding. Then I remembered the many times as a kid standing next to a horse after just being bucked off, tears in my eyes, teeth chattering, body trembling uncontrollably and dad there insisting I get right back on and ride again. Quelling those memories, I clipped in and took off for an easy five miles out and five miles back. I did not expect Ron to be home when I got back so was embarrassed when he opened the front door to leave on his way out as I was putting my key in. He caught me standing there with my bike, as someone not typically prone to drama or displays of crazy emotion, with tears running down my face. With a look of panic he asked, “oh God, what happened?" I answered only this, “I am so happy”.
That ride was liking a little homecoming. Unlike running where certainly one can enter a peaceful state of mind, riding becomes perhaps because of the feeling of flight, for me anyway, a daily sanctuary and salvation.
There are a few men who made comments after my recent set of stitches, such as, “Terri, maybe you should think about getting training wheels", or "you just need to stop all together” or my favorite, “Ron you may want to think about trading her in for a tamer model”.
Thankfully there are also guys who balance that kind of response, like my one and only local guy cycling friend who has sent me course routes to try and gives me suggestions to improve my skills and Glenn my funny friend who is kind enough to say, he thinks I look great and not too goofy in spandex cycling shorts.
This past Friday. I got to meet a group of professional guys who ride. I know that while yes, some have been around for a while many are really young, just barely in their twenties, still somewhat boys. That does not matter. What I am in awe of is not how they look or what great legs they have or even the bikes they ride. What amazes me about all of them is that they ride so unfathomably fast, that they take a turn, gracefully and at a speed most of us would never consider, that they ride fearlessly and full of confidence in a tight pack while moving over 30 miles an hour, that they descend a mountain like they are flying and climb like they are made of steel. (Okay and one is also really handsome, just for the record)
It is their courage, their nerve, their speed, their tenacity battling the distances and the elements, overcoming fatigue, overcoming the doubts in their own minds, their sheer will, day after day - that precipitates the awe.
That I get to kind of feel what these elite athletes feel on such a smaller level but still with great passion is such a kick. That on occasion I get to fly down a hill, lean into a perfect turn, feel the exhaustive joy of reaching the top of the mountain makes me as giddy as a kid. Cycling at any given moment becomes something in my mind that can not be held within the constraints of age, or being a women, a mom, a boss, a wife.
During those elated moments nothing defines me or confines me, it is so simple. Everything fades away and life becomes perfectly balanced.
During those times it is so very happily only this - me and my bike.
Crashes that make even the best cyclists uneasy
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